


For What It's Worth

by Ocelot_l



Category: That Guy with the Glasses/Channel Awesome
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocelot_l/pseuds/Ocelot_l
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Critic wonders if returning from the Plot Hole wasn't a mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For What It's Worth

  
“Large coffee, black.”

The barista says nothing as she types his order into the cash register but her eyes linger on Critic’s face a moment longer than they do when he dons his sunglasses and cap. Damn it all for forgetting them on his rush to get out of the house this morning.   
She returns a minute later with his coffee and can’t help but ask.

“You’re him, right? Nostalgia Critic?”

Three women at a nearby table look up at the question. Critic can feel their eyes trained on his back but he ignores them as he offers the woman a false flash of happiness.

“I am indeed him.”

“Thought so,” she replies with an unearned triumphant grin. “I’ve seen a few of your reviews. Haven’t seen many lately.”

“Oh.” Critic isn’t really sure how to respond to this, so he allows his phony smile to remain in place as he reaches for his coffee, intent on getting the hell out of there as soon as humanly possible. Behind him, the three women have taken out their phones and are snapping photo after photo. Critic does his best to ignore them, her, everything about this poorly thought out venture into the coffee shop, but the barista is giving him that look again, that intent, piercing look, and he feels unable to move. It really wouldn’t be polite to ignore a fan.

“You know what your problem was?” she asks, answering before Critic can even begin to think of a polite response. “Style over substance. You can’t keep an audience interested if you aren’t giving them more than gimmicks…”

As she drones on with her unsolicited advice, Critic stops hearing her, his ears instead attuned to the scraping of chairs and excited whispering coming from less than ten feet away. They’re approaching.

“Sorry,” he tells the barista as he frees himself from the spell of politeness, grabs his coffee, and bolts the door, even though he doesn’t feel an ounce of sympathy over leaving. Critic can sense the annoyance and disappointment in her stare even though he doesn’t give her a parting glance. He’s felt those emotions many, many times since coming back and they never seem to grow any easier to ignore. He shouldn’t be ignoring fans after all, even former fans like her.

Critic manages to slip down an alley a few blocks away from the coffee shop. He crouches down behind a dumpster, holding his breath so the stench of rotten vegetables and chicken bones don’t wipe out what remains of his appetite. Seconds later, he hears them again, voices growing shrill and upset when they realize their celebrity has vanished without a trace. Critic’s first instinct is to reveal himself and pacify them, as he’s done so often in the past, but today he doesn’t have the energy for an apology. He doesn’t have the energy for a lot lately even though it pains him to admit this. He shouldn’t be ignoring fans, after all, even though a tiny part of himself wishes they would start ignoring him.

When he’s alone again, Critic rises and takes a half step in the direction of the street before he halts and instead leans back against the dumpster; walking all the way back to his car seems an impossible task without a drop of caffeine in his system. Doing his best to ignore the rotting air around him, Critic presses the cup to his lips and manages one swallow before the vibrating in his pocket causes him to sigh and bring his phone out.   
It’s a text from the Other Guy. He wants Critic back home soon so they can re-write the script for the next episode. They’d scheduled a recording session for that evening, though now that seems impossible once Critic learns that an influx of angry comments has caused his brother to re-think several jokes. Critic knows this is his fault. He’s made so many mistakes lately, so many accidentally insensitive comments, so many skits that are annoying instead of amusing people.

Critic lowers his arm, too tired to pocket the phone again, too tired for another sip.

Too tired.

He takes a few steps before collapsing onto a city bench, body sagging, head down. He doesn’t care if the women from earlier return, he’s honestly too tired to run any further. 

Running from fans. An action Critic could have never imagined as a viable option when he started doing reviews, but now one he turns to when it becomes too much. The possessiveness. The complaints. The unhappiness.

Critic’s phone buzzes again. He tilted his hand upwards, eyes scanning over the name Douchey McNitpick. Even from his position stabilizing the universe as the Plot Hole, he still has time to send Critic angry critiques of his latest critiques.

The Plot Hole. Critic closes his eyes as he thinks back to the swirling ball of light he had, at one time, come to know more than anything. Had the Plot Hole really been so terrible? 

Had it been a mistake to come back?

A soft melody disrupts Critic’s thoughts and he visualizes tossing the device into the dumpster behind him. The only ones who call him now are those asking something more of him, so why bother? But bother he does, as he checks the caller ID. Only when he realizes that it isn’t the Other Guy demanding to know where he is, or Ask That Guy calling to inquire about where he stores the bleach in his house, does Critic press his thumb down to accept the call.

“What?”

“Critic? Is that you?” Film Brain’s eager voice chirps from the other end. 

“Yeah.”

“I hope I’m not bothering you. I know how busy you get on days when you’re filming.”

Critic’s eyebrow flickers in surprise that Film Brain is this attuned to his schedule, but he offers no comment. “It’s fine, I’m free right now. What do you need?”

He hopes it isn’t another demand. Critic isn’t sure how much more he has left to give.

“I know you’re rather busy since you returned and that you probably aren’t even giving any thought to anything other than how to put out an amazing episode like always,” Film Brain babbles away, oblivious to anything other than the words he’s practiced saying so many times, “b-but I was wondering if perhaps you might, when you’re not busy of course, maybe like to do a, um, a crossover with me? If you’re not busy of course, and if you are, I completely understand, so feel free to tell me to shut up and get my Limey arse back to work if you want.”

As Film Brain starts to chuckle nervously, Critic blinks in silent shock at the question. It isn’t long before the other line falls silent as well and Critic wonders if perhaps Film Brain has dropped the phone so he can laugh at him for even momentarily believing that his offer was genuine. It takes a moment before Critic realizes the younger man is actually holding his breath in anticipation.

“Uh, well, I don’t know what to say,” Critic honestly answers. “It’s not that I’m not interested, but… why would you want to risk tanking your episode by having me in it?”

All the air rushes from Film Brain’s mouth in an undignified combination of exhalation and squawk. “Shaaawhat?” Film Brain quickly clears his throat and continues speaking. “What are you talking about, Critic? You wouldn’t tank the episode, you’d make it one of my all-time most watched! I’m positive of it!”

“I think you mean one of your all-time most shitted on,” Critic mutters, setting his coffee on the iron arm of the bench. “Remember your ‘Equilibrium’ fiasco? That would be nothing compared to a crossover with the site’s most… controversial member.” Critic censors himself from saying the word he honestly wants to describe himself with. There’s no point in spreading his bad mood to Film Brain.

“Critic, I-I can’t believe you’re saying this. How could you think anyone would think so lowly of a creative, funny, wonderful person like you?” Film Brain sounds genuinely surprised, and Critic feels a flare of warmth that has nothing to do with coffee inside his stomach. “You might have ignited the ire of some fans now and then, but you’re still the site’s main draw. You’re still admired and adored by viewers. Not to mention those of us who are luckier to know you on a more personal level.”

Film Brain pauses here and Critic can hear his quick, almost nervous breaths through the phone. His fingers twitch but he keeps the device steady. He really shouldn’t ignore someone; especially someone who’s always been by his side, offering unending support and something Critic used to fear acknowledging.

“I’ve been wondering lately, Film Brain.” Critic’s voice is soft, uncertain. Not at all how he’s supposed to sound. “I’ve been wondering if it was a mistake. If coming back… if being here is a mistake. Do you… do you think…” Critic trails off. He’s never sounded so fearful before, but Film Brain is quick to respond, his reply assured and warm.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve never been more glad of anything, Critic. It may be rough at times, it may feel like you’ve done the wrong thing, but it isn’t a mistake. You being here could never be a mistake. You belong here, making us laugh, inspiring us to be better. We need you…”

Film Brain trails off, but Critic knows what comes next. The warmth inside him starts to spread as he forces out a question, almost stumbling over it in the process. “I-if you’re not busy, can I… come over for a while? I really like it when we talk.” 

“Of course! Anytime, any day, just name it Critic!” Critic chuckles at his sudden verve and a moment later, Film Brain laughs as well. “I suppose that came off a bit desperate. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Critic, I know how very busy you are, so all I meant was-”

Film Brain’s voice dies in his throat when he feels arms wrap around his small frame and embrace him. He drops his phone and turns around in shock, unable to believe he hasn’t fallen into another dream, another unattainable fantasy of Critic forgetting to return his teleportation technology to Insano and visiting him whenever he pleases.

Film Brain’s unable to believe it until he feels the beating of the Critic’s heart against his back, strong and quick, a perfect match to his own.   
Critic refuses to ignore fans… to ignore him anymore.

“For what it’s worth,” he murmurs before pressing his lips to Film Brain’s, “I’m glad you’re here too.”       



End file.
